


Last Christmas

by milkygae



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Marauders - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bad Poetry, Bobby is a real one 💯, Christmas, Dark Academia, Drama, F/F, F/M, Hanukkah, Hanukkah for Remus because he's Jewish no I don't take criticism, Hogsmeade, Hogwarts, I just saw Santa kink as a tag I'm not okay, Inspired by Hallmark Christmas Movies, Jealous Sirius Black, M/M, Maybe some good poetry as well, Misunderstandings, Okay I like tags a little bit too much I'm stopping, Poet - Freeform, Poetry, Post- The Prank, Post-Hogwarts, Santa makes a cameo, Sirius is emo at points but aren't we all, Sirius is there so there has to be drama, Snow, The Prank, Victorian, Years Later, sad boy hours
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:33:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27899902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milkygae/pseuds/milkygae
Summary: After The Prank, Remus leaves Hogwarts, cuts off all connections, and disappears off the map (The Marauder's included). Years later famous poet Sirius Black moves to Hogsmeade to try to find his passion again. He sees Remus and all the tumultuous feelings rise back up, making this apology thing harder than it needs to be. Remus has gone through a lot and he still sees Sirius as the spoiled, flakey boy he knew. With pressure from all around will they piece themselves back together before it's too late? Or will they splinter into irreparable pieces as they did after The Prank?
Relationships: Other Relationship Tags to Be Added, Remus Lupin & Lily Evans Potter, Sirius Black & James Potter, Sirius Black & Remus Lupin, Sirius Black & Remus Lupin & Peter Pettigrew & James Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 5
Kudos: 12





	Last Christmas

The wind nipped at the patches of exposed skin like a playful puppy. Its sharp teeth dragged against his face and his eyes began to water. Yet Sirius was grinning. It’d been five long years since he’d seen Hogsmeade and it still looked very much the same. He wouldn’t have been all that surprised if McGonagall showed up and reprimanded him for being late to class. 

The smile felt tight and unfamiliar, as though he hadn’t smiled like that in a long while. As true as that was, it was still depressing to think about. They pulled their overcoat tighter wishing it could stop the chill that ran through them when he thought of the last time their face had been filled with a real smile. 

Shaking their head in a half-hearted attempt to clear his mind, he pushed his way past the pines and into the village. The snow clung to every crevice and he was once again reminded of why riding a motorcycle was far superior to walking. The trip had been far too long and as lovely as their old gal was she might not have been able to withstand the elements.

His hands were shaky with nervous energy and he dug their nails in wishing he could grip the handlebars. He thought back to the breezy summer nights when he could race through town and forget what he had lost to gain what he had now. He’d just have to wait until the moving truck arrived. Grunting, he shifted their mind to the task of wiping their boots in the entryway of the post office. Miss Fogarty had said she’d sent the key for the house to the post office, along with a surprise for him.

That would have sounded wonderful to any passerby, but with Miss Fogarty, you could never tell whether it was going to be a good or bad surprise. Sirius ruefully recalled the worm foot treatment. The door tinkled and he was assaulted with a barrage of warm air. 

“Good day mate! Haven’t seen you around before, what brings you to this part of town?” 

Sirius smiled at the postmaster, “Oh Bobby you don’t remember me? It’s your favorite angel, Sirius, Sirius Black that is!”

Laughing the old postmaster replied. “Of course I do Sonny, just wanted to see if you’d forgotten this old man.”

“I could never. Now I heard there was a package for me?”

Bobby handed him a package tied with a neon yellow string. “You staying in town for a while?”

That gave Sirius pause. When he’d decided in a spur of the moment decision that their life was unfulfilling (that part was not spur of the moment, it was a cumulative pile of years of resentment towards their life) and he should move back to where he had created some of their happiest memories, he hadn’t really thought about the logistics of it. Technically he could write from wherever, but he might need to travel for events. This seemed like a decision for a later time, as his brain was not wired for long periods of thinking about things other than poetry, and he was tired. So he laughed it off, waved goodbye, and stepped back out into the storm.

The package was sturdily reinforced with liberal amounts of tape and glue, and though he didn’t worry he’d rather not leave it up to luck, so he tucked it into their coat. Hurrying around with his coat half unbuttoned and a large lump in the middle of it was quite unseemly, but they'd never been a stickler for rules, far from it in fact. 

Paired with the dizzying snow flurries had he not known every nook and cranny of Hogsmeade, he probably would’ve been lost. Instead, he made it to an old Victorian townhouse in record time. Ivy filled the cracks and seemed to be the only thing holding the building together. It moaned in the wind and seemed to be saying “Stay back, stay back.” The dull grey appeared to be from the paint, but it easily could’ve been a coating of grime. A glimmering gold handle reflected the yellowish light emanating from the storm and shone like a beacon in the dim street.

Sirius grinned at the thought. There was a reason he was a poet and a reason he had been nominated “Most dramatic” in the yearbook six times. There would’ve been a seventh, but second year was the height of James’ feelings for Lily. 

His numb finger fumbled over pushing the key into the lock, but finally, the door swung open. The inside was only minimally warmer, though the warmth might’ve been the placebo effect. Groaning he reached for the light switch, only to find the lights were shot. He’d come to leave behind their regrets, yet he was already regretting getting rid of his phone in the name of “freedom.” 

After a few new bruises and some barely broken vases, he had lit up the place with candles. The flickering light illuminated the high ceilings and cast shadows that grinned and jeered from the corners. He could feel the inspiration itching at their brain so quite unceremoniously he dropped his handbag and pulled out his notebook. The worn leather was crumpled but still kept the contents safe, even in weather such as this.

The fresh page stared at them and he glared back. Perhaps a little too aggressively they began to write;

_Shadows peek behind curtains, giggle silently behind my back._

_I turn over in the bed looking for you, then remember the hatred when you said you had to pack._

_Shadows trail behind me, reminders of the past._

_Fleeting, I catch only glimpses, enough to have my iron coffin cast._

_Shadows dim the room, even on the brightest days._

_The candles flicker out like we did, in all our fiery blaze._

Not his best work, though their chicken scratch did nothing to add to the ambiance. After years in the business, he could tell it wouldn’t be a seller to the higher crowds, moreso something for lovesick teens who wanted to seem mysterious. It was just too personal and would remind the elites of things they’d rather forget. Even he’d rather forget those memories.

Two more mediocre poems later and a coughed-up pair of lungs the parlor wasn’t covered in dust and looked somewhat liveable. (The curious machine in the corner with metal spikes wasn’t exactly liveable, but it could be useful if he wanted to pull an Ophelia or play the part of the tortured artist.) 

Without any electricity getting ready for bed was simple, and in no time at all, he was bundled up on the stately Meridienne couch. Their thoughts were just turning sluggish when a piercing cry filled the air. Their first thought was “There’s been a murder!” which was then followed by “Is it gory?!” Finally, he noticed the rotary phone on the desk, shaking like an overexcited puppy.

Groggily he rubbed the last of the sleep from his eyes and picked up. A crackle and then Miss Fogarty’s shrill tone plummeted into his eardrum.

“Hello dear! How are you? Actually don’t answer that you need your freedom! I just called to tell you that the moving trucks are held up by the storm and won’t be here until late tomorrow, or when the storm ends. All the info will be in a journal marked _notitia._ Please take care of yourself Sirius, help from others is never a bad thing! Wait this is Sirius isn’t it?”

Finally able to get a word in, Sirius yawned out something that sounded a bit like “Yeah, of course, you take care of yourself as well.”

Crawling back under the covers, the dream world soon claimed him as one of their own. He slept fitfully, body wracked with shivers and so it seemed did the rest of the town. Bobby reached for his wife long gone. Madam Puddifoot pulled at her sheets and her hair. Sirius however just twitched. 

Some would call it a coincidence, but this town holds magic in the air. It calls out to those who see more and want to do more. Those that feel the quivering when something is just too much of a coincidence to be such. Those that feel and those that _believe._ Someday, it will be your turn to visit.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Did I do research about couches for this.. nooo. Also Sirius uses he/they pronouns so that's why they're used interchangeably :)


End file.
